


Psychopath-Free Therapy

by Cumberbatch Critter (ivelostmyspectacles)



Category: Forever (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Coping, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Related, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Henry needs therapy again, Male-Female Friendship, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Skinny Dipper, Slow Burn, Spoilers, Suicidal Thoughts, Triggers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-01 01:11:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2754005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivelostmyspectacles/pseuds/Cumberbatch%20Critter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Henry isn't okay.</p><p> </p><p>Following the events of "Skinny Dipper," Henry isn't as fine as he says he is. Between Adam, Abe, and flashbacks to that day in question, Henry's turning into a ghost of himself and those around him are visibly worried.</p><p> </p><p>[Rated a strong T for suicidal behaviour.]</p><p>ON HIATUS, sorry for the inconvenience. ^^</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Following my latest multi!chap Forever fic, this one has a lot darker tone. It follows "Skinny Dipper", so hence tagged spoilers, and while I know it's not appearing to be in keeping with the previews for the return of the show in January, I wanted to write a semi-PTSD Henry in the wake of what happened.
> 
> Yes, it'll be a multi-chapter, but bear with me as I'm still working it out myself x'D
> 
> I do not own _Forever_. Thank you!

Lucas draped a blanket over his shoulders, Hanson told him good job, and Jo gripped his hand and promised that they were all there for him.

Henry's heart swelled.

Adam called. He'd been his therapist all along.

And Henry's heart ached.

　

 

 

Casework resumed.

　

 

 

Henry was backed into a corner in all sense of the word. He gripped the knife he'd grabbed for self-defence - it was a butter knife, for crying out loud - backhand, his fingers tight around the cool metal and his heart hammering in his chest.

"Henry!!"

His eyes instinctively flew over their suspect's, who was the one who had him caged in in the corner of the home, knife bared, shoulder to Jo, who had just run into the room with her gun held aloft. He met her gaze; she was defiant and as dangerous as Henry knew her to be, but there was a spark of concern under her gaze

and Henry was right back to that night in his lab, staring down the man he had thought was Adam, thinking the worst and then faced with the possibility of losing a loved one in front of his eyes and it wasn't Adam at all, just a mortal man, and Henry was a killer, just what Adam wanted.

He could feel his hands shake.

"Henry. _Henry_."

Henry breathed in sharply, focussing on Jo in front of him. This was the present, and that was the past. This was Hanson wrestling the suspect out of the room, already captured and cuffed while Henry had been off in his catatonic state, and that was _not Adam_ and _murderer_.

"Hey." Jo gripped his wrist loosely. "It's okay. Alright? You're alright." She gently wedged the butter knife away from his fingers. "We're good."

Henry let go of the knife. He drew in another deep breath and let it out, pretending to be oblivious to the way it trembled. He smiled one of his polished smiles. "Yes. I knew you'd come through. Never had a doubt."

And he wanted to thank her, but there was something about the way she looked at him, and Henry didn't want to talk about it right now, so he dodged around her instead and followed the boys back outside.

　

 

 

It wasn't as though a death didn't stick with him. It did. Some instances less than others, but watching Adam kill himself only to then drown himself stuck with him.

Staring at the waterlogged drowning victim, Henry felt sick to his stomach. He straightened amidst a wave of vertigo and reached out for the nearest thing to hold onto; in this case, it happened to be Jo.

"Henry?"

Henry blinked rapidly, clearing the mental salt water out of his eyes. He felt foggy, and he wasn't even drowning. "Sorry." His voice sounded distant to his own ears.

"Are you alright?"

Henry shook his head slowly. "I'm not feeling well. I think I'm going to have to take a raincheck." Wasn't that a poor choice of words? Rain, water, drowning, Adam.

"Sorry," he said again, and pulled himself away, stripped his gloves, and headed back for the street.

He tried to ignore the rushing of the water in his ears.

"Henry! Henry, wait up!"

Henry barely noticed that Jo was following him, and only just stopped a half second before she reached out to touch his shoulder.

"Hey, you need a ride?" she asked, concern etched onto her face.

Henry smiled wearily. "I'll be fine. I can walk."

"You just said you don't feel good," Jo said incredulously. "Now you're going to walk home? Look, it's not that far, I'll take you."

Henry clenched his hands into a fist at his side before relaxing his grip. He forced himself to smile. "Thank you," he conceded, and mutely stood by as Jo mimed for Hanson to go ahead with the investigation.

They resided in silence afterwards. For awhile.

"... I'm worried about you," Jo said shortly, breaking the silence blanketing the car.

Henry feigned ignorance, looking over. "It's just a touch of vertigo, nothing, I'm sure, that you need to be-"

"Bullshit."

Henry, momentarily taken aback by her sudden use of profane language, sat silently.

"Sorry." Jo glanced over briefly. "But you haven't been the same since we wrapped up your stalker case. I swear I'm not trying to get into your business, Henry, but that stuff takes a toll on you. A kill takes a toll on you, it doesn't matter the _how_ or the _why_. And I'm a cop. I've been there before and it's not a good place to be."

"I'm... really fine," Henry said shortly. "I was a-" He caught himself about to say _I was a soldier; I killed people_. "I was, uh..."

Jo sighed. "I'm just asking, Henry. I don't want your life secrets. But, if you want to talk..."

"Thank you," Henry said, seriously. To then continue on to say: "But there's nothing to talk about."

Jo fell silent until the next stoplight. "Did you ever go back to your therapist?"

Henry cringed internally. "No," he said aloud. His voice was more steady than he thought it had any given right to be, considering the circumstances. "He... He transferred out. Just after the case."

"Oh." Jo shifted. "We could set you up with someone else."

"That's really not necessary."

"Okay." Jo's tone was resigned, and that was the end of the conversation.

For now.

 

 

　

How had Adam been able to so flawlessly imitate his autopsy work, Henry wondered. Yes, the man had been watching Henry for how long, even he didn't know. But was he really that skilled as to copy his work, down to the same strokes Henry would have used to slice open a cadaver?

Who was he kidding? Of course he was.

"Okay."

Henry startled back to reality, looking at Jo over the autopsy table. "Okay?"

There were fires of determination burning in Jo's eyes as she wound around the table. She surprised him by taking his hand and holding onto it tight enough that he couldn't pull away without meeting resistance, and then surprised him once again by taking him back to his own office and closing his own door behind them.

"Sit down," she said, releasing his hand.

Henry frowned. "I'm sorry, what's this about?"

"Sit."

Henry blinked rapidly. "Very well, Detective." He sat down on the edge of his chair, watching her in puzzled thought.

Jo moved over the uncomfortable, wooden chair, sat backwards on it, and leaned forward. "Talk to me."

Henry looked at her and then around the office slightly. "About what, exactly?"

She gave him a look that said _cut the crap_ , without needing to say the words.

Henry heaved a breath and reached to straighten the papers on his desk. "I promise you, Detective, I am fine. I was thinking, that's all."

"You weren't thinking about the autopsy, not this one," Jo replied. "So, I'm asking you, friend to friend, to _talk to me_."

Henry watched her idly. Her heart was in the right place, he was certain, because she hadn't been lying before; she had been there. He had watched her freeze up on her first victim after emptying a clip into a man. That was the frailty of mortality - and, in his case, _im_ mortality - to freeze up when something caused indecision. Just like he had frozen looking in the eyes of a murderer after _his_ first kill, like he had nearly drowned in the memories of water rushing into his lungs, or how he simply floated off to a dream world contemplating a psychopath over an autopsy he was meant to be performing as part of his job.

The most striking of all of his inner rationalisation was that it _was_ affecting his job. The one thing that he had had centuries to perfect, and he was lost in what had passed.

"I'm not the type of person to unload my troubles onto someone else, Jo."

"Neither am I," she replied, "so I know that whatever's going on up there is swirling around and attacking you at the worst moments."

Henry stared at her for a moment before reaching for his pen; it wasn't there. He must have left it on the table. His hands settled back onto the desk, fingers interlacing. "I don't know what you want from me."

"Just wanna talk. That's it."

Henry had to force himself not to sigh. He never did well with these conversations. It had been bad enough explaining to the 11th precinct that he had a _stalker_ , in front of Jo and Reece amongst others, with nowhere to run and no lies to offer. Now it was _this_ , and Henry wondered, if he and Abe had gotten to the airport before Jo had showed up to find him with the hunting knife, if he would be happier wherever they would have ended up.

But, of course he wouldn't have. He loved his life here. He loved New York, he loved the people around him, he loved his job. They had the antique front and he had Detective Martinez, and increasingly patient assistant in the lab and an incredibly loving son at home.

All that combined, having a conversation with Jo seemed trivial. So, then, why couldn't he shake the uncomfortableness?

He cleared his throat. "What do you want to talk about?"

Jo folded her arms on the back of the chair. She shrugged. "How're you?"

"I would say that I'm fine, but I don't think that you're inclined to believe me," Henry replied, looking around his office again. "So, we'll settle with the idea that I'm okay."

"That's good."

Henry glanced back at her, and then away, unable to keep her gaze. His neck felt flush. He fidgeted as the lab coat brushed against his skin. "And you're doing well, I take it?"

"I can't complain," Jo replied. "Well, I could," she added, with a small smile that Henry barely caught, "but I won't." She followed his wandering gaze around the office. "You don't keep anything very personal in here, do you?"

"Well, work is work," Henry replied. It was a half-truth, given half of his life was his work to begin with.

"I'm just surprised you don't have a picture or two here and there." She looked back at him. "How is Abraham doing, anyway? I haven't seen him lately."

"Good. He's good." Henry nodded. "Ornery as ever, if you can believe it, but... can't complain," he said absently.

"Yes, you could."

Henry managed a small smile. "But I won't."

Jo smiled back at him. "We'll have to do dinner, drinks, one night, you, me, and him. I'd love to get to know him better, hear some of those stories about you growing up."

Henry scoffed. "Trust me, I was a boring child."

"Oh, I doubt that," Jo said. "You're probably the most interesting person I've met on the team, Henry. You didn't just acquire that overnight. I _know_ you had to have had an interesting childhood."

To be fair, his childhood had been rather lacklustre. It was only _after_ childhood and adolescence that things had started to get dicey. Looking back at it now, his childhood had been a dream compared to his adulthood, but that was the story of anyone's existence.

"Seriously, though, you, me, and Abraham," Jo said, drawing him out of his thoughts. "I'll have you both over for dinner to make up for that lovely dinner you treated awhile ago."

"It's really not necessary-"

She held up her hands. "Nope, I insist. Make sure you tell him." She got to her feet. "Come on." She gestured back to the autopsy awaiting him, and strode out of his office.

Henry sat in another briefly stunned silence; she had wanted to talk and then just- wait. He stopped twirling a loose thread of his lab coat between his fingers. _Abe_. Jo had been persistent about Abe: how is Abe, you, me, and Abe will have to do dinner. So the whole thing had been about Abe.

And _"Make sure you tell him"_... because he _could_ tell him. Because he was alive. Because of Henry taking action that day.

She'd transitioned from casual conversation to slightly off-kilter therapy without him noticing.

"... Consider me impressed," he muttered to himself, and got to his feet to follow her.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry's been on the edge so many times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Triggers for suicidal thoughts.

"Evan, _Evan_ , look at me. Hey, look, it's going to be okay."

Henry stood with one hand outstretched, seven feet from the edge of the building where the thirteen year old boy stood. He was too far away at this distance. Henry longed to step closer but found himself rooted to the spot in fear that the boy would step off.

"No, it's not! They all hate me now! Everyone's going to know!"

"That's okay, that's _okay_." Henry held out his hands submissively, palms up. "I know what it's like to hide behind a secret you've built your whole life. I _know_ , Evan, I know that it hurts to keep up face, I know how it feels to worry about what people are going to say and do. You live every single _day_ in the fear that someone will figure it out, I know, it's no way to live."

"Then I don't want to worry about that anymore!" Evan retorted, curly brunette hair whipping into his eyes, tears on his cheeks, as he shifted position on the edge.

"No!" Henry staggered forward a few steps, stopping cold when Evan looked back at him. Advance when he wasn't looking, keep him talking while he was. "No, no, no, this isn't the way to go, trust me. You only get one life, Evan. Think of all the things you could do. _Think_ of it. You said you wanted to be an engineer, right? I've seen all your drawings, right, your diagrams and plans? They're amazing, Evan. You're a genius."

"No..." Evan shook his head wildly from side to side.

Henry's palms were sweating. He was hyperaware of Jo to the side and behind him, just having come up the stairwell to the roof. He was aware there was a team on the ground. He knew there was hope for this young boy, if only he could make him see that it didn't _matter_ , sexual orientation. It was a small thing on a list of problems in the world right now, extremely more common and accepted nowadays than ever. But this was a thirteen year old boy who'd been beaten half to death after coming out.

"Yes. Look, I know it's bleak," he said, "I know it seems hopeless. But you have people, Evan, you have people that love you, and care for you, and going away isn't going to change that. The only difference is then they will love you and care for you, but you won't be here to accept that love." Henry blew out a breath, taking another step. His heartbeat was pounding in his ears as he dropped his hands. "Hey, I've been here before, alright? I've been on the edge before, too. When everything seemed hopeless, or when someone didn't accept me for who I was, or just... _life_ , but Evan... it's _not_ worth it. Please."

"What am I supposed to do?" Evan shouted. "They hate me!"

"Let them," Henry retorted, "but if they're truly your friends, if you can truly trust them, they won't _care_ if you like girls or boys or _any of it_ because they're your _friends_. And if they don't come around, they're all the more ignorant for not seeing what a fine young man you are." Another step. "Don't hide behind your secrets, Evan. Embrace them. There will always be someone there to pick you up after a fall. You might not see that yet, but trust me, there's going to be someone."

"... Who was your someone?" Evan mumbled.

Henry paused. He thought back to coming home for the first time since his first death, joining Nora back in his old life only to have it ripped away from him. To have it tortured out of him even though it wasn't something that he could let go of. And how many times had he, while at Charing Cross, thought about killing himself if he were given the opportunity?

He took a breath, shaking the memories. "My wife, and my son. I met her, Abigail, when my world was turned upside down with secrets and war. The world had rarely seemed so horrendous a place, and then... I met her. And I was scared of letting her in at first, I was scared of even getting close to her, but she was patient... and accepting. I'd never met anyone like her."

"Where is she now...?"

Henry smiled sadly. "... With me. She's always with me. Even today, Evan. Still today. And you will find someone like that, too. You will find your other half. Believe me. You will."

Evan was still for a moment before - a flurry of action. Henry's heart skyrocketed through his mouth with a cry; he lunged forward to grab Evan, even if it killed himself in the process. But there was no need: Evan turned and lunged himself at Henry and buried his face into his chest and sobbed.

Henry let go of a breath that he hadn't been aware of holding. He sank down onto his knees on the flat part of the roof and wrapped his arms around Evan, holding him tightly. "It's okay, it's going to be okay."

When the precinct told him _good job_ this time, Henry could smile.

　

 

 

"Do you have kids?"

Henry paused, his glass halfway to his lips. "Sorry?" He looked up, meeting Jo's gaze.

"It's just earlier..." Jo said slowly, picking every word out carefully before saying them, "you were talking about your wife. I could have sworn you said ‘son’."

Henry set his glass down. Had he really said that? It had been the heat of a moment; he would have said anything to talk Evan down from the ledge. But with Jo standing there, listening, well, he thought he could keep better face than that.

"Henry?"

Henry looked back at her, smiling. "No. I don't have children of my own." Now it was his turn to pick his words very carefully. "I admit to certain paternal instincts towards friends I have, but that was a little bit of a smear on the truth. Not," he added, "that it's not true. My friends are just as important part of my life as Abigail was."

There. That wasn't exactly a lie. Technically speaking, he didn't have children - biological children. Abraham was adopted, and trying to explain how he and Abraham were _really_ acquainted was not a story to be shared publicly.

Jo nodded. "Alright... You're very good with them. Kids, I mean." She reached for her beer.

"Oh. Thank you." Henry picked up his glass. "I guess you could say I'm in that time of my life. What about you?" he asked, tilting his head slightly. "Are kids in your future? Or past."

Jo gulped down her drink, laughing slightly. "Nope. We never got that far. I guess you could say that I'm _not_ feeling my biological clock ticking."

Henry raised his eyebrows.

"Oh, God, no, I just mean, maybe some day," Jo said, shaking her head slightly, "but... I don't know. I'm a cop. You've seen the kind of stuff we get into. I don't know if I'd make the best mother."

"I'm sure you would."

Jo gave a little _huh_. "Well, I'm sure you'd make a great father," she said, gesturing for the bartender's attention.

Henry smiled to himself behind his glass. Little did Detective Martinez know, but he tried to be a good father. He'd been trying for sixty-nine years and still he wasn't sure if he was doing it right, but Abraham had told him that he was happy. Maybe he wasn't doing a horrible job of it, all of his problems and secrets aside.

"Something else," Jo added, turning back to him. "And we don't have to pursue this if you don't want to, but you also said... you've been out there on that edge before, yourself."

Henry's smile faltered slightly. "... Yes."

"I don't know the circumstances, and I'm not asking," Jo added, "but I'm glad you're with us, now, Henry."

Henry looked at her for a moment, her words sinking onto his chaffed nerves like a soothing balm. He smiled. "I can assure you that the sentiment is reciprocated, Detective. Very much so."

And it was. Henry fidgeted slightly when he realised how much it was. This was the happiest that he had been since he, Abigail, and Abraham were a proper - give or take - family.

"Hey, there you two are!"

Henry and Jo both looked over their shoulders as the voice behind them came closer.

Lucas grinned, throwing himself into the barstool next to Henry. "I wasn't sure if anyone was coming tonight. I heard you had a good deed kind of day, huh, Doctor?"

"Yes. All things considered," Henry said thoughtfully, "it was a good day."

"To good days," Jo echoed, holding her bottle out.

"Yes." Henry clinked his glass against hers.

"Hey, wait, I haven't gotten my drink yet!"

Henry laughed to himself.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He doesn't know when his relationships started getting so deep, but it's starting to scare him. A lot.

Henry barely had the energy to pull himself from the freezing river. His teeth were chattering, his body wracked with tremors and nerves. He should have been used to dying by this go-round, but he wasn't. It was also the first time he'd been killed since _Adam_.

"Here," Abe wrapped a blanket around his shoulders. "Now get in the car."

"Are you okay?" Abe asked, blasting the heat.

Henry turned his head slightly to look at Abe. The blanket, now draped over his head to stop his hair dripping, obscured his vision partially. He didn't care enough to move it away. "Of course I am. A little frozen, but nothing that I can't-"

"You know that's not what I meant."

Henry sank back in the car seat. "I'm fine."

"Henry-"

"No, really, Abe," Henry interrupted. "I'm fine." He smiled faintly. "Really." He reached over to clap his hand on Abe's arm, if only to remind himself that he was there, still alive, and that Henry wasn't in the middle of a daydream. If he didn't, he might start thinking that Abe had really been killed, and all of this _everything's alright_ was just a hallucination.

"Okay," Abe said, smiling slightly. "If you're sure."

"Of course I am." Henry squeezed Abe's arm and then pulled away, reaching for the heating vent in the car to blast hot air into his face. "Age makes wisdom."

Abe scoffed. "Oh, please."

"Fine," Henry conceded, pulling the blanket off his head. "A father's wisdom, then."

"Yeah, whatever you say," Abe said.

Henry grinned, but looked away. He watched his reflection in the window as the smile slipped away immediately. He placed his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes.

　

 

"Alright there, Doctor Morgan?"

Henry shook himself out of his thoughts, looking up at Lucas. "Oh... yes. I was just thinking. This isn't the most opportune entry point for poisoning," he said, gesturing to the puncture wound where the needle had entered the victim's skin. "The poison itself will most likely be a slow-acting one, and this location... someone clearly wanted this man to suffer. Can you get me the tox report?"

"Yep. Just a second."

Henry contemplated the victim while Lucas looked for the report. The main doors opened; Henry glanced up out of reflex and then ducked his head slightly when he realised that it was Jo.

"You got any news, Henry?"

"None yet, Detective. I'm beginning to have a strong inclination towards a personal grudge, however. This man was clearly meant to suffer. Did you get anything off of his wife?"

Jo shook her head. "Nothing I can follow up. He wasn't well liked to begin with."

Henry hummed and pushed the magnifier aside.

"By the way, while I'm thinking about it," Jo added, " _don't_ do that again."

Henry felt a twinge of sheepishness. Jo had torn into him last night when she had called the shop, and he was still feeling the backlash. "I'm sorry."

"All I heard was tires squealing and you were gone. I didn't know what to think."

Henry held up his hands. "I know. It was irresponsible."

"I mean, you could have called."

To be fair, he thought to himself, he was a little detained after getting ran down by that car. Dying and the consequent swim, coupled with the conversation with Abe afterwards... Henry hadn't felt up to doing a whole lot, and he had, admittingly, forgotten to call Jo and let her know that he'd ‘gone home’.

"I know. I know, I'm sorry. I just remembered something and... didn't think," he said idly. "I get distracted sometimes."

Jo laughed slightly. "Yeah, trust me, I've noticed." She sighed, leaning against the table. "Did you happen to see that car that took off last night? The garage's security footage was trashed, they had to be up to something."

Henry shook his head slightly. "No. I'm afraid I haven't the faintest," he muttered, turning away.

"Well, I hope it wasn't related, or we're missing out on a big clue."

Henry didn't say that he didn't think it was related. He knew that it wasn't, but he couldn't explain why, and he definitely couldn't explain himself. It was best to keep his silence in these scenarios.

"Here you are, Doctor- oh, hey, Detective," Lucas greeted.

"Morning, Lucas."

Henry took the report as an excuse to tune out from the conversation, getting lost in the small, black print on the page as he thought about other things.

　

 

It hadn't been the first time that he had stepped in the line of danger, but it had been the time, perhaps, with the most determination burning in his core.

This was similar.

"Henry, get _back_ ," Jo ordered, her hands still held up. "I swear-"

"If he wants to kill you," Henry said slowly, meeting the gaze of the gunman feet away, "then he's going to have to go through me first."

"Do you _realize_ how cliché that sounds?" Jo hissed.

Henry didn't look back at her. He was silently egging the gunman on- _shoot me shoot me shoot me_ \- by engaging eye contact and hoping he looked superior. It didn't seem a mean feat. He was angry, and he wasn't going to let Jo get shot under his watch _again_. He would die first (and then come back) before he let that happen again.

He had realized he'd gotten... awfully protective of her.

He would think about that later.

" _Henry_ , get out of here right now, or-"

"No," he said softly.

And the implication in his voice was clear.

　

 

Later on, when the gunman had been arrested without incident, when Henry was standing next to the car, he found himself pondering when he had gotten borderline kill-or-be-killed over his co-worker and what exactly that meant. With Abe, it was... justifiable, yes (loathe as he was to think the word _justifiable_ for dishonouring his Hippocratic oath), but Abe was family. Jo was-

"I don't know if I should hug you or hit you," Jo said suddenly, striding over to him.

Henry stared at her. "I would prefer the first option," he said, after a moment of regaining himself. "But I would understand the second."

Jo sighed heavily, rubbing at her eyes. "I swear, Henry, it's like you _seriously_ have a death wish."

_No. I'll come back. You wouldn't_ , he thought to himself, and then shook himself out of his thoughts again.

"Okay. Just..." She dropped her hands. "Thank you, for stepping up tonight, but, for being so _stupid_ for trying to get yourself killed _again_ , you can buy me a drink. God knows I need one."

Henry smiled, slightly at first and then a little more coy. "How about I do you one better?" he asked.

　

 

It was later that night, back at the apartment, that Jo reached for the bottle to pour another shot and Henry had to force himself not to pull the bottle from her fingers (why had he granted her request for something strong?) that he realised he was having the best time he had had since... well. A long time.

He propped his head up on his hand and listened to Jo ramble on a little bit about politics - politics? - and politely denied her offer to pour him another drink with a soft smile. He would rather be content without the aid of a copious amount of alcohol, however fleeting that contentedness would turn out to be.

Besides, someone had to be sober to take her home.

(He was too wrapped up in faux-pas normalcy to remember that he didn't drive in this century.)

 


End file.
